


The Pulse

by weytani



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weytani/pseuds/weytani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you find yourself caught in a rainstorm out in the middle of nowhere, do you:</p><p>A: take shelter in that suspicious old mansion until the rain stops,<br/>or B: carry on walking?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's a Light

**Author's Note:**

> Horror is my favourite genre, and this is mostly just me playing around with the tropes I love and hate. Tags will be updated as things develop, depending on how weird this all gets!

"I don't know about this, Shaw."

John hitched the strap of his rucksack a little further up one shoulder, side-eyeing Shaw’s dishevelled form through the thick waterfall of rain surrounding them. They stood side by side on the pavement, bodies heavy with fatigue and the muddy clothes sticking uncomfortably to their skin.

Water trickled down his forehead and made twin streaks into both eyes, and John squinted, letting the tall, rusted fence before them blur into nonexistence.

"We've been walking for miles," Shaw reminded him, already a step closer to the bars, "and the map says there's nothing else for another twenty."

"The map also says that this is an empty stretch of land until the next town. I think it's time to move into the twenty-first century, don't you?"

At least, he wished that were a possibility. They hadn't had a sniff of Wi-Fi in days, nor any kind of phone signal that would help them get their bearings as they trekked through the countryside. If not for the currently useless technology weighing down on both of their spines, John would think they'd walked themselves back into the days of Torch and Pitchfork.

Looking up at the eerie building they had just discovered, with its large, shadowed windows and the moss creeping up around the arch over its doorway, he could easily believe it.

"I think that it’s this or hypothermia," Shaw muttered, wrapping both hands around the fence and pulling herself forward for a closer look at the property.

John came up behind her, tall enough to watch the wind snap at untamed shrubbery in the courtyard over the top of her head. The whole place was off-putting in ways he couldn't quite grasp, but Shaw was right.

"And if it's empty?" John wondered.

"Even better. Everyone's so paranoid these days, we'll be lucky if we can talk our way in."

There was that, too. Who in their right mind would let two intimidating - and yes, he admitted to himself, they were definitely that - strangers into their home so late at night? Especially in the middle of nowhere; it was a gruesome crime scene waiting to happen.

If they were lucky, maybe there would be a barn or a shed just out of sight somewhere behind the house, some kind of shelter where they could catch a few hours of sleep until the storm passed over. Maybe they wouldn't even need to knock on the door.

"Ready?" Shaw stepped away from the bars and made a beeline for the gate, which scraped open under what seemed to be the slightest tensing of her arm. They watched it fly back with an audible creak, and John looked at Shaw with raised eyebrows.

Creaky old gate, very poor lawn maintenance: nobody home, for sure.

Shaw took one step onto the cracked flagstones and suddenly a window on the upper floor flickered from pitch black to pale yellow, a neat square of light that sent a chill down the back of John's neck. It was easily distinguishable from the icy rainwater trailing from his jaw, like a sense of danger he'd had at least a dozen times in the past.

In those cases, he usually turned on his heel and made a break for it. But Shaw was already halfway to the front door.

It wasn't like her to be so hasty; they were careful people, and John was self-aware enough to realise that he was usually the one jumping headfirst into a problem. He and Shaw had always worked so well together because they knew when to hold each other back.

But right now, he seemed to be having a hard time doing that for Shaw. Like a woman possessed, she marched forward, and John had to call her name twice to get Shaw to stop in her tracks.

"Do you really want to stay out here all night?" She sounded exasperated, oblivious.

"I'm getting a bad vibe from this place," he said. "We should go."

Shaw looked at him, and then turned back to the front door without a word. By then, her feet were inches from the steps leading up to porch. John watched the back of her head as the rain bore down on them, making vicious thuds against the canopy before plunging over its sloped ledge into the yard.

When he looked up again, all seven of the front windows were glowing with yellow light, but still he couldn't see anything of the house within.

"Shaw," he repeated. Her ponytail swung around like a whip as she glanced back at him, feet still pointed squarely at the steps as she shrugged her shoulders.

"You can sleep out here with your bad vibes and your wet underpants, or we can knock on the door and see what happens. They obviously know we're here already."

When John still didn't look convinced, she tried again. "Look, on any other day I'd trust your instincts, but we're both on our last legs. If we're stumbling into the Hellmouth here, then so be it."

“Think we can fight our way to a hot shower before they string us up on meat hooks?”

“Well,” Shaw rolled her eyes up, hands splayed in mock helplessness, “I figure my odds are better than yours, if the movies are to be believed.”

"Fair point. I've yet to meet anything scarier than you on an empty stomach anyway."

John couldn't help but smirk then, and Shaw grinned back at him, nodding. Her posture seemed looser now that he’d drawn her attention away from the house.

With the tension eased at least a little bit, Shaw climbed the stairs up to the porch, John trailing closely behind her. She waved a hand at him to knock, turning to wring some of the water from her hair now that they were under the canopy.

Slowly, John reached for the black knocker and brought its slim, metal handle down against the door three times in quick succession. Each knock seemed to echo through the house with a fearsome bang, bang, bang that set John's nerves right back on edge.

They waited for a moment, hearing nothing but the rain above and behind them, until the door finally gave way.

In its place stood a young man peering out at them, brown stubble doing nothing to hide the paleness of his drawn face. His eyes looked tired, wary, as he sized them up under the soft light emanating from the doorway.

"Hi there." John offered him a crooked smile, trying to draw attention away from their dark clothes and hulking backpacks. "We're really tired and hungry. Probably close to death. Think we could crash somewhere on your property until it stops raining?"

John could practically feel the needles Shaw was glaring into the side of his head. Nobody ever accused him of having world-class social skills, but it was far from his worst attempt at diplomacy. Frankly, their best chance here was to draw on this guy's sense of moral decency. Assuming that he had one.

The man looked uncertain for a while as he glanced from John to Shaw, who gestured with her head expectantly.

"That's not possible," he decided, before retreating into the house.

John reached for the door before it could swing shut, only to find it suddenly out of reach as long fingers from inside closed around the edge and yanked it out of the pale man's grasp. The door flew wide open this time, revealing first the visibly shaken form of their dismisser, and then another, more cheerful figure.

A tall brunette woman smiled at them from the entryway, seeming not the least bit concerned by the rain-drenched figures standing on her front porch so close to midnight. Instead, she just looked amused.

"You'll have to excuse Jason here," she said, patting the man's cheek affectionately. "He gets so anxious about strangers."

"We're looking for a place to stay the night, got a barn or something with a roof?" Shaw piped up from behind him, and John shifted his weight, sensing her growing impatience.

He watched the woman lean her head against the open door, arms crossed over her black nightgown as she smiled at them. At Shaw, specifically.

"Nothing like that.” The woman pouted and shrugged her shoulders, exaggerating her apologetic tone as John and Shaw looked at each other in defeat. "But there are some empty rooms inside if you’re interested."

"That is, if you're not too scared of the big, bad house.” She fixed her eyes on John then. “I saw you fumbling around in the yard."

When had she seen them, John wondered, and his skin crawled as he pictured her looking down from one of the gloomy windows while they talked by the gate. That explained the chill he'd felt earlier.

John met her taunting gaze with a deadpan expression, unwilling to rise to the bait. He turned to Shaw and spoke quietly, "It's your call."

Shaw slipped inside almost immediately.

John followed close behind her with a sigh, ducking past their hosts, so close that he could smell the woman's sweet perfume and see the nervous, almost remorseful expression on the man's face.

Based on the exterior of the house, John had been expecting some kind of old-fashioned hovel waiting for them inside, but the foyer was nothing short of luxurious. The halls were wide and lit with glowing lamps on both sides, and a chandelier dangled from the high ceiling.

John could almost convince himself that he'd just stepped into the lobby of an upper-class hotel, if not one a little smaller than the sort he'd spent time in during his covert op days.

In front of him, Shaw stopped at the base of a broad staircase, unfastening her rucksack and letting it drop, at least somewhat gently, to the linoleum floor. She rolled her shoulders and turned to him, raising her eyebrows as if to say, "Are you seeing this, too?"

"So," John asked for the both of them, "you two have this whole place to yourselves?"

"Not exactly." The woman grinned as she brushed past him, leaving her companion to close the front door in her wake. John still struggled to place the dynamic between these two; partners, or maybe siblings? Whatever the case, it seemed like she was the one who called the shots.

"There are others," she continued to say, leaning back against the banister not far from where Shaw was tending to her stiff muscles. "You'll probably run into them eventually, but they're not much for conversation."

Her smile creased at the edges, like there was a private joke in there somewhere that she was enjoying immensely.

When Shaw unzipped her thick jacket, the woman seemed to lose focus for a moment, and John was quickly catching on to something he'd prefer to ignore.

He fingered the strap of his own bag, considering further questions, but decided he didn't want to prolong the introductions. Or maybe he just wanted to hustle Shaw away before she noticed their host's conspicuous interest in the dip of her shirt.

"Not to be rude, but we've had a long day. Could you...?" John gestured to the stairs, a polite smile wrinkling his face to soften the abruptness of his words.

"Oh, of course."

The still-nameless woman turned on her heel and began a slow trek up the stairway, her short gown fluttering against the backs of her thighs as she lifted her legs. John registered the view with disinterest before glancing away, making a grab for Shaw's rucksack as he passed her. She snatched it up out of his reach with a scowl.

Side by side, they followed their host up to the first floor with the other man, Jason, hot on their heels. John was hardly fazed by the eerie paintings that crawled by alongside them, sharp eyes and close-lipped smiles from people he'd never know, people he assumed must be long dead.

But one painting in particular made an impression on him, and on Shaw if her narrowed eyes and quiet exhale of amusement were anything to go by. At the very top of the stairs, revealed inch by inch in all its gruesome detail, was an intricate piece of art depicting a goat getting its throat ripped out by a large black wolf.

Immediately, John felt that familiar prickle along his spine again, and his mind strayed to the handguns stashed in the lining of both his and Shaw's luggage. Just a creepy house with creepy paintings, maybe, but for the first time that evening, he was relieved to have the added weight on his back.

"A little on the nose, don't you think?" Shaw commented dryly, stopping on the landing to inspect the artwork.

"You think so?" The woman moved to her side, close enough that their elbows brushed, and raised a hand up to the wall. She traced the beast's open jaw with an index finger, one black-painted fingernail settling where the sharp points of its teeth disappeared into the goat's neck. "Mm, I don't know. I’ve grown quite fond of it over the years."

Shaw shrugged and took a step back. "Your house, your choice of grisly, unsettling decor, I guess."

“Does this unsettle you?”

“Oh, please.”

John set his jaw as he watched the exchange unfold. He didn’t like the low, playful tone of this woman’s voice, the ease in which she leaned into Shaw’s space as they talked.

“I’ve pulled scarier crap out of my shower drain.”

"By the way," John interrupted, keeping his expression neutral, “you never gave us a name."

"I thought you'd never ask." Her hand slid away from the wolf and settled at her waist as she turned to face him. "My name is Root."

An unusual name for an unusual woman as far as John was concerned, but he'd never say as much. "Reese," he said instead, "and this is Shaw."

"Perfect." Root's smile stretched over the 't', bearing a neat row of  teeth in her exuberance. John wasn't sure exactly what it was that he'd said to make her so happy, but he was fairly sure he regretted it. "This way."

They turned down one of the adjoining corridors, passing another flight of stairs which sloped up into darkness. The house seemed larger, somehow, than they'd perceived it from outside the gates; its halls seemed longer, wider, as Root led them on. Maybe John’s fatigue was making the whole experience more intense than it otherwise would be.

Shaw didn't seem as affected, that was for sure. She was a few steps ahead of him now, keeping pace near Root's left side as they walked whilst John followed from behind.

"So, you take in strays like us often, do you?" Shaw's voice carried back to him, light and curious.

"Only the exceptionally cute ones," Root said, and John could picture Shaw's eyes rolling as she scoffed. Root's head dipped for a moment, tilting in Shaw's direction like she was looking Shaw over again, this time from the corner of her eye.

"Don't you think our guests would be better off in _those_ rooms," Jason called from behind him, and John cursed himself for getting too caught up in their host's disposition to remember the other man. His footsteps had been so quiet, almost ghost-like.

"No, Jason," Root replied patiently, "I think they could use a little pampering, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." He sounded resigned.

Glistening light fixtures followed them around every corner, chasing them deeper into the house, and John found himself caught in a dizzy web of twists and turns, corridors that seemed endless. Until, finally, Root stopped walking.

"Here we are," she said cheerfully, gesturing to an identical pair of doors not far ahead of them.

Shaw drew to a stop at Root's side, arms folded across her chest. "One each?"

"Well, I thought I'd give you the option. They're both doubles, if you'd prefer..."

"Absolutely not." Shaw looked uncomfortable at the very idea of sharing his bed, and John's face mirrored her reaction.

Even back in the old days, when it was just him and Shaw, alone in cramped motel rooms for long stretches of time, things had never gone that way. Shaw was too much like him, too much like a sister. They'd never made a convincing couple, even when their jobs depended on it.

"I didn't think so," Root said, eyes landing on John briefly before she turned her back on him again. "They're pretty much the same inside. Ensuite bathrooms," she winked at Shaw, albeit poorly, "in case you're feeling a little dirty."

And with that, John was just about done.

"Thanks," he muttered, stepping between them as he darted for the closest bedroom.

He didn't care much for the calculating expression on Shaw's face, and even less for the prolonged eye contact going on. Whatever came of this embarrassing display was Shaw's decision to make. John's only decision now was whether he would hold himself upright long enough to shower before crawling into the bed.

With one hand on the door handle, John turned his head to their host, meeting her eyes as he repeated himself more sincerely this time. "Thank you. For your generosity."

Root blinked back at him, a serene smile playing at her lips as she replied, " _Trust me_ , John, the pleasure is all ours."

* * *

The room's interior was just as lavish as the rest of the house, not that John had expected any differently. What Root had described as simply a "double" was, in fact, a large four-poster bed with thick, rounded columns, shiny black wood and deep red sheets like the sort he'd only seen in movies.

Nothing said Villainous Intent quite like silk sheets and throw pillows.

Or maybe that was just how the wealthy were living these days, he supposed. Family inheritance? John expected so. Nobody with a full-time job would be living this far away from civilisation. He himself couldn't imagine living such a comfortable life.

Sighing, John took the rainproof cover from his rucksack and discarded it near the door before laying its contents out on the bed.

He definitely had to scout the room before opening it, just to be safe. In a place like this, old-fashioned as it was, hidden cameras still weren't out of the question, and even the friendliest of strangers wouldn’t take kindly to a guest with dangerous weaponry stashed under their clean underwear.

(He and Shaw weren't packing as much heat as the old days, but they still kept the necessities; unmarked handguns, spare magazines, switchblades, among other things. And he knew Shaw had a stun gun on her somewhere, but he wasn’t sure that was entirely for self-defence purposes.)

From the foot of the bed, John could see very little in terms of furniture. A small set of drawers on each side of the mattress, empty but for a leather-bound bible tucked near the back of one. John left that untouched. He swept his hand above the upper panel of the bed and came back with nothing, not even a thin coat of dust.

Next, a large dresser to his right, nothing inside that either. Straight ahead, a pair of deep red curtains which he drew aside to find a narrow window. Rain was still pouring heavily outside, but he could make out the bars of that familiar fence beyond the overgrown yard, and what looked to be a graveyard not far ahead of it. The road was nowhere to be seen from this side of the house.

For a while, John remained there at the window, watching the dark figures of the trees bending in the wind. There wasn't much in the world that could unnerve him these days, but even alone in this room he felt out of his depth.

The door to Shaw's own room had clicked shut not long after his, and the walls were thick enough that he couldn't hear a thing from her side. Whether that was for the better, John wasn't sure. But it was a comfort to know she was there.

After a lengthy sweep of the room produced no further results, John pulled the zipper around and inspected his share of the luggage. The rain had been kept at bay by their covers, thankfully, and everything inside was bone dry, if not a little cold. He ran his hands over the familiar lumpy aberrations in the lining, and considered the laptop briefly before abandoning that idea.

If there was an internet connection to be found here, it could wait until morning. It wasn't like anyone was waiting on their contact; not anymore.

Instead, John pulled out a clean pair of boxers before closing the bag up and resting it carefully below one of the dressers. He avoided the lure of the pristine sheets before him, aware that collapsing fully clothed in his muddy gear would make for a poor night's sleep. And the smell that greeted him when he peeled his shirt off was another helpful deterrent.

John trudged into the bathroom, surprised but thankful to find spotless white towels and packaged soap waiting for him on the counter inside. Strange, he thought, wondering how often this place saw guests. They were certainly well-prepared for visitors.

Looking back, John would regret letting his guard down so easily. He should have stayed with Shaw, should have let Root think they were an item, awkwardness be damned. At least then they could have taken turns watching the door.

But John was tired, wrecked from a day of travel, and uncomfortable from third-wheeling his way up a flight of stairs on top of all that. He unwrapped one of the soap packets and stepped under the stream of hot water, exhaling in satisfaction as it pelted his back.

Eyes closed, his back to the door, John didn't see a damn thing coming.

At least the bastards caught him as he blacked out.


	2. Us and Our Shadows, Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a while, haha. Glad I managed to pull out an update in time for Halloween! The title of this chapter is from The Devil's Carnival ("Beautiful Stranger"), which is awesome mood-music, by the way. The last one was, of course, a shoutout to Rocky Horror. :)
> 
> And though I didn't reply to your comments last chapter (sorry!), thank you to everyone who took the time.

Sameen stepped out of the pristine bathroom with a towel thrown over her shoulders, dabbing the excess water that dripped from her hair as she went.

After three days straight of roughing it in the outside world with John, sleeping with the open sky above her head, and eating the same tasteless rations for every meal, this house felt far too good to be true. Any minute now, John would lash out in his sleep and kick her out of this sweet dream, and she’d roll over in her crumpled sleeping bag to a face full of dirt.

Sameen paused just inside the bedroom to dig her toes into the soft carpet, so different to her thick, scratchy socks that did a piss-poor job of retaining heat. Here, it felt like the floor was warm and comfortable wherever her bare feet made contact.

_Speaking of making contact—_

Their host hadn’t been particularly subtle.

In fairness, Sameen had done very little to dissuade the attention. She’d noticed Root making eyes at her from the start, had been trained to pick up on those little tells and use them to her advantage out in the field. Not that she’d had to rely on that skill this time around.

Far from it, Root had looked more than eager to grant them shelter for the night. That bright smile, those shining doe-eyes... Sameen wasn’t sure what to make of that one. What she did know, however, was that Root was smoking hot, and also _interested_ despite the muddy spatters on Sameen’s clothes and the fact that she hadn’t showered in a few days. That was rare.

Reese had ducked into one of the rooms like the hounds of hell were barking at his heels, leaving Sameen in the corridor with Root and her twitchy errand-boy for company. At that point, she’d expected some kind of overt come-on, a show of hands from Root who didn’t strike her as the type to play coy.

“He doesn’t seem to like me very much,” Root said instead. She didn’t appear too concerned by this information.

Sameen looked at her for a moment, weighing up the socially acceptable thing to say (“He’s just tired”) against the likely truth (“You want to bone me and it makes him uncomfortable”).

She settled on a half-truth. “Trust issues. Occupational hazard.”

“Well.” Root bit her lip playfully, head dipping to the side as she glanced from Sameen to Twitchy and back again. “I think we’re the ones taking a pretty ambitious trust fall here. Dark, stormy night. Mysterious strangers at the door.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re overly worried,” Sameen pointed out.

“What can I say? I have a good feeling about you two.”

Either this woman had a very poor sense of self-preservation, or Sameen was being vastly underestimated. She turned her gaze on Jason, wondering if he shared Root’s point of view. Wondering if he was going to leave any time soon so Sameen could see where this was really going.

Jason’s eyes darted away from her immediately, and Sameen scrutinized the bead of sweat gathering just under his right ear.

“I guess this is goodnight,” Root said after a beat. She had her back pressed to the wall, one hand raised and lingering behind her left ear as she looked down at Sameen, taking her in from the feet up in a slow, blistering appraisal.

Sameen squared her shoulders, unbothered, and caught Root’s gaze when she was finished leering. “Something else you wanted?”

A knowing smirk passed between them like a dare on both sides. Her joints ached, and her hair was still slick with rain—still, there was a distinct buzz of arousal thrumming low when Root looked at her. Maybe Sameen would take up the challenge if it was proposed.

At the edge of her periphery, Jason shifted his weight over from one foot to the other, and glanced over his shoulder.

“No, I think we can leave things here for the time being,” Root said, pushing away from the wall and turning her back on Sameen, whose jaw twitched at the sudden brush-off.

She wasn’t disappointed. Sometimes people really were all bark and no bite.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay here more comfortable.” Root cast a dangerous smile over the black lace shoulder of her nightgown.

The “I” in her statement was indicative of something, but Sameen was already bored of this game. Chicken was only fun when there were lives on the line. Or a hefty sum of money.

“Thanks,” she said blandly, reaching for the door handle across from where John had disappeared.

Root waved at her cheerfully as she pushed the door closed behind her, eyes bright and innocent, while Jason, eyes averted, shook his head until the latch snapped back into place.

After that, Sameen had dumped her things, making a careful sweep of the room before she went to clean up. That little back-and-forth with Root had left her worked up enough for a quick fling with the showerhead, and she was feeling loose-limbed and comfortable by the time she re-entered the bedroom.

Sameen could sleep now, realistically. Her body would probably welcome the change from its usual sleeping conditions. But there was another issue at hand; her empty stomach made an aggravated noise, like it was clawing at itself in contempt.

She and John had split the last of their rations – some miserable looking crackers and a can of what might have resembled beef hash at some point – early that morning. Usually they could stock up at whatever piece of civilisation they passed through next, whether by hard labour or by pickpocketing until they had the funds to get by, but it had been a while.

Fuck, Sameen was hungry.

In a mansion like this, there was sure to be a kitchen somewhere. Maybe a couple of five-star chefs if Root had the cold, hard cash to back up her eccentricities. Sameen glanced at the ugly-looking grandfather clock in the corner, where the smallest hand had recently tipped just past the roman numerals at the very top.

Well, she could probably throw a sandwich together by herself, and maybe nobody would notice the difference come morning.

If her phone hadn’t been long dead, she might have invited John along for the ride. But this place seemed devoid of anything resembling an electrical socket; there were lamps on either side of the bed, ones that lit up when she tapped her fingers against the sides, but nothing like a cord was attached, even as she lifted one away from its stoop on the table.

Sameen had heard the shower running from John’s side of the wall not long after she’d left the corridor, but by the time she had re-emerged from the bathroom, there was nothing but silence. He must have passed out already. The guy could use some rest, she figured. Maybe Sameen would pick something out for him and stash it in her bag for when he woke up.

With that in mind, she barely glanced at John’s door when she stepped back out into the hallway. The deep red carpet and dim lighting still reminded Sameen of some of the lame scary movies she’d sneaked into without paying as a kid.

The paintings dotted around, though none so vicious as the one Root had seemed so proud of almost an hour ago, were still pretty grim. Root seemed to have a real taste for ugly, sharp-toothed animals. And dead livestock. And balding, white men in funeral suits with thick-rimmed glasses.

Frankly, Sameen thought she’d painted better things herself. With a child’s hands and a box of edible finger-paint.

Before leaving in search of food, Sameen had thrown on some shorts and a tank top from her rucksack, thinking the warmth that seemed to creep up from under the flooring in the bedroom would carry through the rest of the house. No such luck; out in the hall, an icy chill nipped at her bare legs unkindly, following her around every corner.

She wasn’t too affected by how strange and bleak this house seemed as she wandered through it. If the eyes on odd paintings rolled around to watch her pass by, she didn’t flinch, didn’t stop to investigate. Low, wailing noises from the darker, unlit passages that crossed her path? Not Sameen’s concern. She retraced the steps Root had taken with them earlier and nothing more.

Eventually, she found her way back out onto the landing, where the hulking wolf still had its jaws buried in rotting goat flesh, and down the staircase to the foyer. They had left puddles of rainwater and muddy bootprints in their wake as they followed Root upstairs, but the floor was now dry and spotless under the glow of the candles, hordes of them grouped together in forked holders around the room.

Five sets of doors greeted Sameen at the bottom of the stairs, with nothing to indicate what lay beyond each of them. The front door she recognised as the one in front of her, whilst a set of double doors stood either side. She caught a glimpse of two smaller ones hidden behind the broad staircase, one on each side.

Sameen figured one might lead to a lounge, and the other... a dining area? More winding corridors?

Her stomach made another noise, gurgling impatiently in response to her idle pace. This mansion was starting to irritate her.

“Off to grandmother’s house, are we?”

Sameen turned at the voice, eyes landing on Root where she sat, perched at the top of the staircase like a night owl on a high tree branch. Her eyes definitely seemed to glow like one.

A bead of water from Sameen’s hair rolled down across the back of her shoulder as she looked up at Root’s eerie form. She had one leg crossed over the other, pale thighs on full display for Sameen to half-heartedly pretend not to notice. Root’s chin rested on the palm of one hand as if she’d been sitting there comfortably for a while now, observing.

“And you’re, what, the wolf or the old lady?” Sameen deadpanned.

Root eyed Sameen for a moment, her bare foot swaying from side to side lazily in the air. “Looks like you’re having a hard time finding the kitchen.”

“Just taking the scenic route.”

“I knew the paintings would grow on you.” Root beamed, uncrossing her legs and descending the stairs to meet Sameen at the bottom. Her hair seemed lighter under the glow of the candles, felt soft to the touch when a neatly-curled lock of it brushed Sameen’s shoulder as she walked past her. “Let me show you the way.”

Even hospitality at its most accommodating should have a point of diminishing returns, Sameen thought to herself, following Root through one of the doors to their right. More to the point, how had this woman found her wandering around so quickly? And did she ever sleep?

Their bare feet made a steady rhythm on the parquet flooring as they walked; Root in front with her arms swinging cheerfully at her sides, and Shaw behind, taking in the pale skin of Root’s back through the generous dip in her nightgown.

Root didn’t seem affected by the cold at all. That nightgown left her arms bare and brushed her thighs just above the knee, but she appeared as comfortable as if it were summer. Sameen, meanwhile, could feel the cool air digging icy fingers into her limbs. Like someone had left the windows open in every room but her own.

“Couldn’t afford to splurge on central heating?” she muttered.

Root cast a smile her way as they went through another door. “I don’t really feel the cold,” she said, and then, leaning back against the open door with one heel flat against it, “maybe I’m just... _hot-blooded_.”

That, Sameen thought with an eye-roll, was definitely a line. Root’s grin was salacious as Sameen brushed past her into the kitchen. It was a close fit, Root having chosen to keep the door propped open only so far as to let Sameen sidestep her way in.

Her shin brushed the side of Sameen’s knee. Warm skin. Guess she really didn’t feel the cold.

The kitchen was a lot bigger than the guest room had been, lined across two parallel walls with black marble counters. Two islands stretched about halfway across the centre of the room in the same fashion.

“The pantry’s locked up already.” Root pointed a slender finger at the single other door on the other side of the kitchen. It was padlocked shut, closed shackle like they really didn’t want somebody’s grubby hands on all their canned goods and dry cereal. Rich people sure were stingy.

“Got a hairpin? I’m pretty good with my hands,” Sameen said, stepping forward.

 “I bet you are.” Root’s eyes were wide with admiration when Sameen turned to look at her. “But there’s no need. We keep some snacks over by the sink.”

Sameen followed her gaze to the deep ceramic basin built into one of the counters, and the twin cupboards beneath it. Root watched as she crossed the room, her crossed arms resting on the closest island as Sameen crouched to pick her way through a jumbled assortment of potato chips and Pop Tarts.

“Somebody has a sweet tooth.”

“Oh, I don’t eat junk food,” Root drawled, scrunching her nose up at the thought.

“So why keep this much of it?” Sameen flicked a bag of chocolate-covered raisins to the back of the cupboard. Rainbow skittles. Peanut butter M&Ms. No thank you.

When Root didn’t respond immediately, Sameen turned to glance up at her. Root blinked back, looking kind of dazed as if she’d been caught staring intently at something. Previous experience suggested it was her ass.

“For Jason and the boys, mostly. Their palates aren’t quite as refined.” Sameen bit back a snide comment. “And you’d be surprised how often people like you and your friend end up out here. Lost lambs in the countryside.” Root laughed to herself.

Sameen didn’t much like being compared to livestock.

She turned back to the cupboard and grabbed a small box of Lucky Charms for herself, tucking a Reese’s candy bar into the pocket of her shorts for John. He’d appreciate the irony.

Only when she’d stood up did she latch onto something Root had said. “’And the boys’. What’s up with that?”

Kids would explain Candy Mountain over there under the sink. It made the blatant flirting a little twisted, but Sameen didn’t see this going anywhere special after the brush-off earlier anyway.

But Root must have caught her meaning, because she shook her head lightly. “Not what you’re thinking. Think of this like... a commune,” she said. Her gaze darted away from Sameen, falling on the island that she was still hunched over. “Just a group of people with a common goal.”

“And a crap-load of money, from the looks of it,” Sameen pointed out.

Root smiled at that. “Well, we do what we have to in order to survive. Just like anyone else.”

That was interesting. But Sameen let it go, more intent on ripping into the box of sugary cereal in her hands. After a moment of silence, she blurted around a mouthful of oats and marshmallow, “Figures. I didn’t take you for the motherly type.”

“Is that so?” Root perked up, seeming to loom closer over the island between them. Sameen chewed on her cereal, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, Shaw, what do you take me for?”

Her eyes were wide with interest, pupils dilated. Didn’t take three years of med school to figure out what that meant. Sameen hadn’t picked up on the blood-red tint to her irises earlier though, despite all the prolonged eye contact.

She swallowed, running her tongue over the outside of her teeth for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“No?”

“No. But, see,” Sameen started, and she pressed her forearms down on the island to mirror Root’s casual stance. “I think you’re taking me for some kind of dumbass.”

Root blinked at her innocently, staring her down over the shortest possible distance. If Root’s mouth had been open, Sameen would have felt warm breath along her cheek.

“I just haven’t figured out how. Not yet, anyway.”

“Have a little faith, Shaw.” Root’s eyes skidded down, then back up. Her pupils seemed to shrink into pinpricks, but that wasn’t humanly possible, was it? Sleep deprivation must be kicking Sameen’s ass right now.

Or maybe not. This house was fucked up. She hadn’t paid any mind to the weird activity going on along every damn corridor she’d passed through, but Sameen had clocked every moving portrait, every low wail and at least one unearthly-looking handprint on the wall.

She’d prioritised food over freaky nightmare fuel, and she could probably go to bed here and wake up still not giving a damn, but Root...

Root closed her eyes and nudged her chin forward, catching Sameen’s mouth in a light kiss. Her lips were cold, and so was the hand she lifted to stroke along the back of Sameen’s neck.

Sameen gave a millisecond of thought to how hot-and-cold this woman was, in every possible way. She was so damn tired, but sleep would come in its own time, and right here was an itch she didn’t think she’d have the opportunity to scratch again.

So she opened her mouth, let the kiss run deeper, a little rougher when Root’s teeth got a hold of her lip. And god damn, that hurt like hell for some reason. Root’s kiss was sharp with the cold, sharper still when Sameen’s tongue caught on the razor-like tip of one of her canines.

The cut sent a warming zig-zag of sensation all the way down to Sameen’s toes, but she ducked back on instinct. Root made a desperate noise in the back of her throat. Even so, she let Sameen withdraw for the brief moment she needed before continuing.

Her mouth tasted bloody, but Sameen didn’t want to stop. The hand on her neck slid down, dragging along the shoulder of her tank top. The edge of the kitchen island dug uncomfortably into her stomach, and she was so, so close to scraping her brain back into shape and taking this good time somewhere a little more private.

So close, in fact, that she pulled her mouth away just in time to meet the prongs of what felt like a stun gun aimed at the back of her neck. The half-empty box still grasped in her hands jolted sideways as her arms spasmed, Lucky Charms flying out like brightly coloured confetti all over the kitchen floor.

Within seconds, Sameen’s body had dropped out from under her, slumping heavily over the marble counter. She had a moment of clarity, long enough to hear Root’s soft apology from above, to feel the brush of cold fingers along her cheek, before something heavy landed on the back of her neck. And then she slipped into unconsciousness.


End file.
